


land among the stars

by astridianmayfly



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Astronaut, Coming of Age, Dreams, Existentialism, Gen, Stars, slowly coming to terms with the fact that some dreams aren't going to happen, space, space imagery, very bittersweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22413964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astridianmayfly/pseuds/astridianmayfly
Summary: And so when Danny ventures into the portal, it is dark and cold and vacuum-like and within, he feels gravity’s burden ease up on his shoulders. He lets himself indulge in the fantasy that this is  a rocket ship of his own design; Sam and Tucker are his fellow astronauts. If he were to crane his neck to give them a shout, he isn’t sure if the sound-waves will quite reach their ears.Or: Danny's dreams die with him.
Relationships: Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton, Danny Fenton & Tucker Foley & Sam Manson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 67





	land among the stars

**Author's Note:**

> this is very sad and i should be asleep
> 
> title based on that one les brown quote: "Shoot for the moon; even if you miss, you will land among the stars." Hint: Danny misses.

And so when Danny ventures into the portal, it is dark and cold and vacuum-like and within, he feels gravity’s burden ease up on his shoulders. He lets himself indulge in the fantasy that this is a rocket ship of his own design; Sam and Tucker are his fellow astronauts. If he were to crane his neck to give them a shout, he isn’t sure if the sound-waves will quite reach their ears.

But all this is before his hand flips the switch, and the curious light germinates from the portal’s frontmost generator. He stands stupefied. It’s a supernova in his basement, and his chest flares up in happiness at the thought. 

So the beam grows and grows and grows as Danny stares dumb, transfixed. 

It’s like hydrogen and helium and the elements that concoct those other elements out in the distance; It’s like fire. Danny is reminded of last year, of when the Columbia crew burned inside their shuttle upon re-entry. All those people, remade into a flaming comet. 

He tries to turn, tries to run. It all happens too fast. Before he can let out so much of a  _ “Houston, we have a problem!” _ to Tucker and Sam, he is ignited and swallowed, hurtling back towards the ground. 

Danny finally accepts he is no longer in space when he hears his own screams bouncing off the cavernous walls. 

* * *

“Jazz, will you shut up  _ for one second? _ I need to  _ focus _ .”

Jazz gapes at the outburst, then closes her mouth. She’s sitting on the countertop, glancing down at Danny’s pencil, granite tip crumbling into the form. “...I was just asking what you were doing!” She pops off the counter, looking a bit miffed. Danny almost laughs; her expression is in stark contrast with Jazz’s usual, put-together appearance. Satisfied, Danny turns back to his form. 

Jazz walks behind Danny. On her way to the stairs, she hovers over him to see what he’s writing. Danny is considerably annoyed.

“Jazz, take a  _ hint!”  _ Danny puts his hands over the paper, but Jazz is too quick for him. She grabs the corner, effectively snatching it out from under Danny’s nose. 

“ _ 11th grade interest survey… _ ” she reads--

\--Danny grabs the bottom of the page, turning it intangible. “Ah,  _ Danny!!”  _ Jazz’s hands go through the page. 

He smirks in success, page in hand. “Well, you’re being nosy. As usual.”

Jazz huffs. Then, she brightens, assuming the role of a cheery big-sister-role-model once more. “My grade had to do that, too! Don’t worry, I mean, no one is going to read it, it’s intended as a personal brainstorming exercise--”

“Yeah, I get that. But I still need to think.”

“What about--?” 

Danny wordlessly shakes his head, interrupting her. “I just….. don’t know. Anymore.” 

Jazz cocks her head. “You sure about that?” 

Danny keeps shaking his head.

“I got a lot going on,” he finishes lamely. The implication is plenty clear.

Jazz leaves him alone at the kitchen table, after ruffling his hair affectionately. She treks up the stairs.

From the top of the landing, she looks down on him. Danny rolls a pencil back and forth, back and forth. In her mind’s eye, he becomes Little Danny, wishing on a shooting star. It’s so vivid. Must be a memory.

_ When I grow up, I’m gonna go to space! _

A flash of sympathy strikes her chest.

* * *

Phantom comes home later, through the window. In another timeline, one Danny Fenton may have had to fit himself through the crack at the bottom of the windowsill. 

This is the universe where Danny can manipulate solid matter. He goes  _ through _ the window in the most literal sense.

Just another night, chasing the Box Ghost away from the warehouse on the pier, beating Skulker to a pulp. Little nicks dot his chin, there’s probably a few bruises under his hazmat. The big injuries are (thankfully) not as frequent as they were when Danny started the job. He winces, thinking about that first wound: a slash from Skulker’s blade. He remembers crying out when it sliced into his skin, and touching two fingers to the gash revealed his Not-Blood.

No more than an hour later, the cut had completely vanished. It was then that Danny had decided it was better he take the punches than somebody who bled red and whose heartbeat was easier to silence.

Rather aimlessly, Danny floats over to his posters, as if this wasn’t his room and he didn’t wake up next to them every day. He isn’t sure what he hopes to accomplish by studying them intently.

His eyes cast their unearthly glow upon the animated images of astronauts, various model rockets, and NASA logos adorning the walls. The only thing the green light matches is the friendly glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. 

He hovers to his bed. When he arrives, he lays poised over the mattress, still. His throat is hard. Danny closes his eyes and searches for solace beneath his false sky.

* * *

“Guess what I put for my college-interest thing.”

Danny rolls his eyes, shifting so his back presses harder against his locker. “Oh, I dunno. Vegetable major? Vegan specialist?”

Tucker’s eyes find his PDA again, snorting. “That’s literally  _ Sam _ .”

The sarcasm goes over Sam’s head. “I’m into the poli-sci thing since it’s a pretty general degree with a lot of applications. My  _ goal _ -goal is becoming a lobbyist, and honestly, I’ve lost all interest in being a lawyer or annoying-ass politician, so…” She pauses. “A lot of people don’t know what they’re gonna be when they grow up.”

“So?” Danny’s a little sharp in his response.

Sam is a little taken aback. “...Well, I just meant that it was pretty cool that we all know what we like.... It’s important to find your interests early.”

Danny knows Sam is trying to be encouraging, motivational even, but her words sting. He goes to open his locker, hoping neither Sam nor Tuck can see his flushed face.

“...Danny?”

He breathes, face stuck inside his locker. “... Yeah?”

She shakes her head. “Uh, never mind. See you in Lancer’s, yeah?”

“See you.” 

Danny slams his locker door a little too forcefully as Sam and Tucker walk in the opposite direction. He withdraws the interest form from his notebook. 

_ If you had one choice, what would you like to major in? _

The accompanying line does not list anything with the prefix ‘Astro-’, the sort of thing that has always caught Danny’s fancy. 

It is left vacant. He feels as hollow as the blank space.

He thinks he is beginning to come to terms with reality. The harsh truth simply is that Danny can’t save the otherwise-hopeless world in the stratosphere.

* * * 

It gets easier, eventually. Still, he finds old modeling glue in his rug when the Fenton Thermos rolls under his bed. The family photo album reveals Danny’s pastHalloween costumes, aged six to ten, donning the same Armstrong-inspired spacesuit. His telescope begins to collect dust. One day, when it doesn’t hurt so much, he’s going to pull it out again. Rave on about Cassiopeia, like the good old days on the roof. Maybe Jazz would stop giving him that face, then. Maybe Sam would stop so subtlety prodding him, asking why they didn’t stargaze as a group anymore.

He starts having the dreams he had when he was younger. He’s floating in the void, surrounded by those teeny pinpricks of brightness. 

They used to be happier. In blurry memories, in vague dream-like logic, he remembers playing with the colored stars, touching them; he remembers they were fuzzy, he remembers they were warm. They would wink as the moon would wax and he thinks that he had giggled. But it was so very long ago. It was so long ago.

The new dreams, they’re mostly the same. Same inky atmosphere, same lonesome hum. Yet these cold stars, they swirl around him at 299,792 kilometers per second. The white dwarfs pass him by.

Extending outstretched fingers towards them, he can never quite reach.

**Author's Note:**

> im projecting here for sure. At one point this year I thought I was going to quit ballet, which i'm super into (meaning I dance classical ballet thirty hours a week not including rehearsals at a super competitive studio.) It was really hard for me to grapple with. I wonder how I would feel if I did quit; my identity is so intertwined with my dreams and ideas of my future. It's the same for Danny. Here's me playing with that concept.
> 
> Hopefully you liked!


End file.
